Papers Left UnGraded, Stories Never Told
by Fannin
Summary: There is a place in Iruka's dreams much more home than home. There is a boy, there is a town, there is a man. One-shot, psuedo-AU you be the judge . KakaIru


**A/N:** An Iruka-centric fiction- classified as slightly AU? Dunno- it's a one-shot, though, and I hope you all enjoy!

**Classic Disclaimer (because they're just too much fun):** I have never owned Naruto nor will I ever hope to own Naruto save perhaps in my dreams where Umino Iruka, Hatake Kakashi and Rock Lee are in servitude of yours truly. Did I mention Hayate? Right. Not mine. Heh…

----

_**Papers Left Un-graded, Stories Never Told**_

These papers, shuffled, unorganized, some with names, some without, remind me of a dream that haunts me even in the waking hours. In this dream, people I vaguely recognize shuffle down foreign streets, and papers, so many papers, litter the desk I sit at; different yet similarly disorganized like the one before me now. There are faces I long to recollect, these faces with names, and there are some with no name that turn my mind ill at ease. Because I cannot remember and sometimes left with the feeling I'm better off not knowing.

I look at my watch and remember times that never existed and yet are cherished. The empty cup of instant ramen on my desk has been there for two weeks now; despite my students' comments, it stays. It reminds me of this dream. I can still smell the spices and the noodles and meats cooking; boiling to simmering as _we_ wait.

"…_You gunna eat that?"_

I always give it away. Even though I had to wrestle with my protesting appetite, I would shove the bowl over and its contents would vanish within seconds. And I would smile.

For a moment, steam billows out of the container, but I blink and it's gone. Past it, the back of the classroom and the empty chairs are shrouded in the evening shadows. They were earlier filled with eager -in some cases, _less_ than eager- minds. Most students find ancient Japanese history dull.

Staring at the papers fluttering silently on my desk, struggling against the can of coffee and the paperweight, I'm tempted to agree.

And then, the dream returns. It's not quite ancient history nor could it be considered 'modern'. This city of life and death is a fantasy time period in a fantastic world my subconscious nightly throws at me. Leaves are perpetually caught in the wind. Sweet or aggressive, the sound of leaves never dies because the city is surrounded by a flood of green. Soft blues and lively greens clash with the earthen browns of the cliffs, drowning the monotonous grays of the cities I've lived in. Even the tiles of the roofs are brilliantly colored. No other place exists in the world like this city. My Konohagakure…

It has a name and a history. Apparently, there too I am a teacher. A happy if not at times, distraught, man.

A smile prods at my lips as again, I glance back at the tests I should be grading. One of them, almost completely covered, catches my eye. The name. Na-

"_NARUTO!!!"_

-kura. No, not the boy in my dreams. Nakura is a little girl, quiet and studious. She's certainly never worn a hideously bright orange jump suit to class before. I doubt she ever will.

I often wonder if I should regret not finding a suitable partner; am I longing for a son? Did being an only child force me to foster a subconscious desire for a younger sibling? I'm not friendless, nor did I ever really consider myself lonely. Not until I entered Konoha. Konohagakure, a land of dreams and of nightmares. Where I teach not just general knowledge but to utilize that knowledge for administrations of death. Children being taught to kill.

No. To defend their country.

"_I'm going to be the best."_

"_Of course you are."_

"_Dammit! I mean it! I'm gunna be the BEST!"_

I remember saving him and then, strangely enough, him returning the favor. And I was proud. God, but I was proud. This boy training to be the best ninja in the world had saved me; a man who felt little worth and inside, was probably just as alone as he was.

Closing my eyes, it's almost like I'm there again. The classroom is gone and instead, cool grass brushes against my skin and children play- _train_- all around me. His loud, confident voice overshadows all of them.

"_I know, Naruto. You will be the best. You'll be the best Hokage Konoha's ever seen."_

"_Sensei…"_

He pesters me for ramen and I give in. Seasons pass and eventually, I have to let him go. Last week, at two in the morning, I woke with tears in my eyes for the loss of this boy I never had.

The next night- my skin crawls at the memory of it- my vision swam with red.

"_They're not ready for this!"_

"_You need to learn when to let go."_

"_Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke! They're not ready! Please, Third, they're not READY for-!"_

"_It seems to me you lack confidence in your own protégé."_

He is aloof, indifferent and lazy. He is always late to my office with reports from his missions. He never tells me anything directly. In essence, the man is like one of the slackers in my class. Sans for the fact that he holds credibility as being one of the strongest Shinobi in the entirety of Konoha.

He reads pornographic material -openly!

He lies (What the hell does he mean by saying 'I got lost on the road to life'?)

He stole the boy who was my pride.

He stole my sanity. Many times.

And he pilfered my heart along with it.

The last few days have had me waking in the dead of night soaked in sweet and in dire need of a cold shower. All I could process was loss, pain, grief….pleasure, aggression, biting, scratching, bliss. The morning comes, and when I'm getting dressed, I see phantom bruises all over my body. I'm almost ashamed because I've never seen myself as…that sort of man but even so…

Who are these people that have possessed my mind?

Why do I remember gliding through trees, hands at ready to sling deadly weapons -kunai knives and shuriken, ninja weapons- at hidden opponents? I can see myself laughing at the antics of the orange clad boy, remembering times in that life when I myself did similar, reckless activities.

Or was involved in such.

Eyes still closed, one hand traces the horizontal scar marring my face. It has been there since my childhood as a result of a prank gone wrong. In the other world, the cause was far worse…

"_Ahh, don't hide your face now."_

"_W-why not?! You hide yours!"_

"_Because mine is grotesque. Your scar-" A gloved finger traces along the line of sensitive flesh. "-Is….cute."_

"_Cute?!"_

Last night, fingers ghosted over my skin, tangling in my hair and gripping my shoulders. I had a terrible time focusing in first hour class this morning.

Even through an entire day of feuding lords and cultural reformation, I can still see his face. Masked, as it always is. I've never seen him without it. Every time I attempt to imagine, it eludes me, retreating back into the shadows. He is a creature of the shadows. In my dream, he visits me at night. Never in the daylight. Recently, in sleep and in life, I find myself wishing for once, I could see the man who took me for his own.

"_Just once?"_

"_Nah."_

Gentle, barely audible fluttering of paper as it is caught in a breeze forces one eye open. The window has been opened and one of the tests has finally broken loose.

Hatake Genji.

"_Their teacher is Hatake Kakashi."_

"_Hatake Kakashi? What about him?"_

"_He is Sharingan no Kakashi….and he has never passed a single student."_

It is tucked back under its guardian; the small jade dolphin seated next to cold coffee.

There is so much more to this world of laughter and blood than I could hope to uncover. Some of it has already been lost on my returns to reality. Small details and conversations. There are loops and skips through time whenever I re-enter Konoha.

"_The Third!_ _The Hokage…he's…."_

The instant ramen is steaming again. A photograph of my class blurs and the faces change. Just for a moment.

It's all gone in the next.

Last night, after he had left, cold steel replaced his warmth.

I reminisce now because somehow I know I'll never be returning to the place I loved yet so briefly knew. There will be no more nights in the arms of another. There won't be ramen with a boy in an orange jumpsuit or his pink haired friend or their permanently scowling companion. The dream came in segments on different nights, but it was a timeline and therefore, one. A chain combined into a singular experience.

The florescent lights above my head flicker momentarily.

Electricians these days…

"_Umino Iruka." _I already long for the days beneath the trees.

And the presence of a loud, blond haired scoundrel who promised to be the greatest. "_Iruka-sensei!"_

And the friends I'll never see again. "_Dolphin-boy!"_

The students I'll never 'punish'…"_Bastard sensei!"_

"_Iruka!"_

"Iruka…"

A pen drops, unheard, uncared for. Scraping of metal against tile grates against my ears but I'm not listening to any of that.

My eyes are no longer trained on the stilled papers on my desk.

One gray eye meets both of mine.

"Kaka-!"

"I forgot my book."


End file.
